


Patron

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Developing Relationship, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the tragic death of his parents, gymnastics teacher and general nobody, Dick Grayson returns to the city that took everything from him in a flash. Within moments of the public hearing about the last living member of the famous Flying Grayson family performing with his old troupe, all of the seats for the circus’s anniversary show performances sell out.</p><p>Dick is expecting to do the shows and go back to his cramped apartment in New York with his wallet a lot heavier and his heart a bit lighter. He isn’t expecting Bruce Wayne of all people to show up backstage with the offer of a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been nudging at this AU idea for the whole month, ever since Yam’s birthday when I first thought of it. Something just clicked for me today and I wrote over 3k words for it without even registering it. Whoo! I hope you all enjoy it!

With applause thundering in his ears along with the heavy thud of his pulse, Dick can barely manage to focus on what the ringmaster is saying. He’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe beyond the sudden panic tightening his throat to focus on the glee of the crowd that has been watching him avidly since the start of the show.

Raya nudges Dick with her elbow, leaning in so that she can speak into his ear. “You okay, Dick?”

Dick presses his lips firmly together and nods instead of shaking his head like he wants to.

He’s not okay, —who would be after performing for the first time in a decade almost right on top of where their parents died? — but he can’t say that to Raya. Not now. Not when she was the one who talked everyone into making room for Dick in the damn show after Dick had mentioned his problems finding steady work over the break.

If Dick’s not fine, than that’s no one’s fault but his own. Raya doesn’t need to worry.

"I’m fine, Raya." Dick lies through his clenched teeth, smiling even though it’s almost physically painful at this point. "The best. Don’t worry about me, Raya." He curls his fingers in against Raya’s palm when she reaches for his hand, squeezing tightly before he lets go and forces himself to stare at the audience instead of his childhood friend.

Raya lifts up onto her toes and brushes a quick kiss over Dick’s cheek.

"You never were a good liar, Dick," Raya says against his ear, her voice soft but nonjudgmental.  She curves her hand in against the bend of Dick’s elbow, tugging him close as she starts to walk through the crowd of people milling around backstage after Dick took his turn at bows. "There’s someone who wants to meet you backstage. Try not to lie to him and you’ll probably do alright."

Despite her slight stature, Raya has no trouble manhandling Dick. She gets him more than halfway to their destination before Dick can even voice a single one of the questions that he has rattling around in his skull.

"Wh-what?"  Dick blurts out when Raya comes to a stop in front of the room that Pop Haly has been using as an office and, instead of opening it right away, turns so that she can fuss with Dick’s glittering gold and blue costume. "Who do you want me to meet?"

Raya glances up at Dick, her green eyed gaze sharp as she brushes overlong strands of black hair out of Dick’s face. “You liked being onstage tonight. Right?”

Dick lifts and drops his shoulders in a casual shrug that makes his overworked muscles twinge with a deep ache of pain. “Yeah, I guess so.”

"Then he’s the  man that’s going to make sure that you can fly — with us, or with some other troupe if you want — and pay your rent at the same time," Raya says in a matter of fact tone that holds no room for arguments. "Just… hear him out, okay? I think this could be good for you."

The solemn note in Raya’s voice makes Dick frown. “Raya,” he says, “Who —”

But before he can finish asking the question, Raya opens the office door and all but pushes Dick in before following after him.

There’s a man sitting at Pop Haly’s desk. Someone that obviously _isn’t_ the patriarch of the circus family and isn’t even a part of it despite how his features ping some part of Dick’s memory that remains stubbornly out of reach.

Dick tries not to stare, but it’s hard. The man sitting behind the desk looks massive even while seated, broad shoulders and thick arms still very obvious underneath the lines of a tailored black suit that probably costs more than the rent Dick pays for his postage stamp of an apartment.

He’s also, and Dick doesn’t mind thinking it in the slightest, very attractive. He’s older than Dick, but the grey at his temples and the faint lines by the corners of his dark blue eyes highlight his handsome features rather than take away from them.

All through Dick’s unashamed staring, Raya continues talking.

It takes a moment for Dick to understand what he’s hearing.

"…Mr. Wayne would like to help you reestablish yourself as an artist for a program he’s heading about nurturing homegrown talent in Gotham City and its schools."

Dick blinks, face flushing when he realizes that both Raya and Mr. Wayne are staring at him, expressions expectant as they await his response.

"Um…" Dick frowns, trying to think of something he can say that won’t make Raya feel as though she’s wasted her whole night on him. "Will there be a contract, Mr. Wayne? I mean, I don’t know anything about um —"

Raya jumps in for him when he falters.

"Having a patron," she suggests with a smile.

Dick nods, looking back at the unfairly attractive Mr. Wayne. “Yeah, that. I’ve never had a patron and I don’t know what to expect beyond like…HBO movies and crap.” At least Dick stayed away from mentioning the immediate leap in his head from having a patron to his life turning into its own _Pretty Woman_ parody. That has to count for something.

"Call me Bruce," the man across from them says, his deep voice a low rumble that makes Dick’s hormones practically stand up and pant. "Please."

"O-okay," Dick says, his voice just breathy enough for Raya to notice and then laugh at him. He shoots her a glare when he dares risk it, narrowing his eyes at her and then scowling with a quick flash frown before returning his attention to Bruce. "And um… the contract?"

Bruce smiles.

"I have a copy with me," he says, gesturing at a thick sheaf of stapled papers sitting in front of him atop the desk. "Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?"

Dick blinks. “Dinner?”

Raya doesn’t even bother trying to hide it when she jabs him in the side with one painfully pointy elbow.

"Say yes," she hisses, and the office is nowhere near big enough for Bruce to miss that. She whirls around and gifts Bruce with a sunny smile that makes her look sweet and not at all like she’s responsible for the dull ache radiating out from Dick’s side. "Dick would _love_ to go to dinner with you. Let him get changed and he’ll meet you out back in twenty minutes.”

Bruce smiles, teeth flashing in the overhead lights, and then rises to his feet to leave. When he moves to walk past Dick and Raya, he turns to Dick and holds his hand out.

"Regardless of what you choose, believe me, it has been a _pleasure_ to watch you perform,” Bruce says, looking at Dick as though he’s the only other person in the room or hell, in the whole world. “

Dick finds himself hard-pressed to keep from swooning just for the hell of it. He manages a smile that hopefully doesn’t look _too_ constipated and shakes Bruce’s offered hand, trying not to linger where lingering might not be wanted. (After all, the heat that Dick is seeing in Bruce’s eyes? That could all just be wishful thinking.)

"Th-thank you," Dick hears himself stammer a moment later when the handshake goes on just as long as Dick had feared. "Um, I’ll see you out back?"

Bruce inclines his head in a slight nod, gaze still fixed on Dick’s face. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he’s gone in a wash of expensive-smelling cologne.

Dick slumps back against the door the very moment that it swings shut behind Bruce’s broad back.

"Raya," he grits out, the words coming out with a graveled, almost _strangled_ note to them. “What the hell did I just agree too?”

"Dinner with an attractive man," Raya says with a grin. She looks absolutely unfazed by the fact that Dick might be dying of embarrassment only a few feet away from her. "You agreed to go to dinner with an attractive man that couldn’t take his eyes off of you at any point tonight."

"Are you sure you didn’t just sign me up to be some rich guy’s boy toy?" Dick asks under his breath.

Raya laughs, no, _cackles_. “No, sweetie: if anyone’s doing that, it’s you.”

*

Next to Bruce, Dick feels underdressed. But then, in a comfortable sweater and his most worn pair of blue jeans, he really _is_ underdressed.

But Bruce doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He’s waiting for Dick when Dick slips out the back door of the arena, standing at the passenger side of a black sports car that looks as though it’s made out of starlight and magic and Dick’s not a car person in the slightest, but he could be for that car.

"I take it that you like the car?"

Dick grins helplessly.

"No, I’m in love with your car," he gushes before he catches himself and flushes. "I mean um, yeah, it’s nice." Nice. _Nice_. Geez that’s pathetic. Dick barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at himself, only stopping because Bruce might think he’s rolling his eyes at _him_ , and jams his hands into his pockets as he shuffles closer to Bruce and his gorgeous car. “So, where are we going?”

"If you don’t mind fine dining, there’s a new restaurant we could eat at."

Dick scrunches up his nose when Bruce goes to hold the car door open for him. “Fine dining? With those tiny portions? Thanks, but no thanks.”

Instead of getting frustrated with Dick like he expects, Bruce merely looks amused. Slipping into the driver’s seat, Bruce turns so that he can look at Dick’s face. “Fair enough. What would you recommend we try?”

Dick wiggles in his seat. “There’s a diner down by Cathedral Square,” he says. “You can’t miss it. My parents used to take me an’ Raya there after performances because they have the biggest breakfast plate that you can get your hands on. You’ll love it.”

Bruce’s thin lips quirk up with a faint smile. “I’m sure I will.”

*

Late at night, the diner is mostly empty.

Aside from a couple of college students and a cop sipping coffee at the counter, Bruce and Dick have the place to themselves. They sit in a booth at the back of the diner, just far enough from the door that any latecomers from the Haly Anniversary show won’t see them and put two and two together, but close enough to the kitchens and counter that their waitress won’t forget about them.

Dick can’t stop moving. Underneath the heavy, _heady_ weight of Bruce’s regard, Dick feels like he’ll just explode if he doesn’t move and soon. So he fidgets, fingers tapping against the side of his second cup of too-sweet coffee as his leg jiggles against well-worn linoleum and vibrates through the plastic-covered booth seats.

"Why are you doing this again?" Dick asks once the waitress comes back with their meals — a deluxe breakfast platter for him and the dinner’s famous pot roast meal for Bruce — and leaves them to stew in near silence aside from the pop music piped in through a speaker system that’s got years on Dick. "You don’t even know me, but you want to be my sugar daddy?"

Bruce’s nose wrinkles with a frown.

"Not your sugar daddy," he says with a faint sneer on his lips that Dick can’t quite translate. "I don’t — I can’t —" He pauses, eyes wide and filled with frustration. "Of course I find you attractive, but that’s not why I want to be your patron."

Dick blinks, choosing to put aside the knowledge that Bruce Wayne thinks he’s attractive until he can freak out about that in private. “It’s not?”

Bruce shakes his head. “A few years ago, you took part in a gymnastics exhibition over at Hudson University. I was in the audience.”

"And what — you decided you loved my work from _that_?” Dick huffs and slouches in his seat. “Newsflash, dude, but that wasn’t really a big deal. It wasn’t a performance.”

Bruce’s answering smile makes Dick shift in his seat. “But you performed tonight,” he points out. “I’ve never seen such skill and emotion put into a single routine. Half of that audience came to see you perform tonight —”

Dick cuts him off with a scoff. “No, you’re wrong. Half of the audience came because they wanted to see if the last Flying Grayson would really get up in the air. My performance had nothing to do with it.”

One of Bruce’s big hands comes down hard on top of the table. “Stop selling yourself short,” Bruce says, voice almost a snarl. “Your friend Raya told me about how many different companies wanted to steal you away from Haly’s when you were a teenager. You were an Olympic hopeful, Dick. That’s more than what most gymnasts get.”

"Well now I’m a gym teacher in New York," Dick says with a stubborn jut to his chin. "I don’t know what you’re expecting me to be for you, but that’s what I am now. Not a performer.  Not a real athlete." He taps his fingers against the rim of his plate, agitation making him fidget worse. "I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now. I don’t think I’m what you want."

Before Dick can get up, Bruce’s strong fingers close around his wrist, holding him firm.

"I don’t think you understand what I want," Bruce says softly.

The heat of his fingers on Dick’s skin is scalding, distracting, and Dick shakes his head.

"Bruce —"

"Please," Bruce says, his tone hushed. "After we eat, let me show you."

Despite the frown still tugging at his mouth, Dick allows himself the room to bend under Bruce’s watchful gaze. “Show me what,” he asks. “Some _thing_ about me that makes me the perfect fit to whatever you have planned?”

The bitterness in Dick’s voice barely seems to register to Bruce who nods. “Yes, exactly.”

"Fine," Dick says, slumping in his seat. "But I’m only going along with this because I want to finish eating. Got it?"

Bruce’s smile isn’t exactly smug, but it’s not far off from it.

*

Out of all the places that Dick is expecting Bruce to take him after they finish eating dinner in the diner, a community center a stone’s throw from Park Row isn’t it.

"This is it?" Dick asks, voice heavy with suspicion when they get out of the car and step into the covered garage for the center’s employees.

Bruce nods. “The Martha Wayne Children’s Center. It’s my pride and joy.”

Martha Wayne. It hits Dick suddenly.

"Your mother?"

Bruce nods, his expression solemn as he looks up from inputting the security code into the console next to the door. “When she was alive, she did her best to take care of every single person that she came across. Park Row and its inhabitants were very important to her.”

The garage door lets them out into a huge indoor basketball court that is liberally covered with equipment for several different kinds of sports. There’s another section on the far side where Dick keeps catching glimpses of brightly colored couches and book cases along with the biggest flat screen that Dick has ever seen outside of a sports bar. Off the bat, it looks like the perfect place for a teenager to come to get away from it all.

"It’s a nice place," Dick says as he follows Bruce around. "But this still doesn’t explain why you need me."

Bruce nods. “You’re right. It doesn’t, but I _will_ explain.”

There’s an office in the back and that’s where Bruce leads Dick after giving an impromptu tour of the facilities. The office is cramped and dark but the chair that Bruce shows Dick to is more than comfortable enough to make up for that fact.

"You were born in Gotham weren’t you?"

Dick shrugs. “Yeah. And?”

"I need local artists and performers for a public program to inspire the city’s children," Bruce says once Dick is seated. "You’re perfect. Born in Gotham, raised all over the world, and coming back here to use Gotham and the Wayne Foundation as the cornerstone for your career. The reach you’d have would be incredible."

Dick isn’t buying it.

"That sounds nice an’ all, but I don’t exactly have a performing arts career. Not anymore." He sighs. "If you want me to come in and work with kids, that’s fine.  But unless you know of a company looking for someone like me, I don’t see how I’m going to get a career here in Gotham."

"I know people," Bruce says, deadpan.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Of course you do,” he mutters.  A moment later, Dick rolls his eyes up at Bruce and asks, “And you’re sure you’re not paying me to be your arm candy?”

Taken aback, Bruce stares at Dick. “Of course not,” he says sharply. “Any money that you receive from my patronage will be directly related to your needs as an artist. That’s all, I promise.”

"Good. I’m in."

"You are?"

Dick shoots Bruce a dirty look. “You really don’t have to sound so surprised. I’ll need to pack my stuff and see where you plan to put me up for the next few months, but aside from that, I’m all yours.”

The look on Bruce’s face, one of half-stunned delight and desire, sinks its claws very neatly into Dick’s brain.

Damn it

*

Later, when Bruce pulls up in front of the hotel where Dick is staying, Dick hesitates to get out of the car.

Dick licks his lips, feeling a bit nervous as he glances at Bruce out of the corner of one eyes. “Is there anything in the contract about me asking you out? Or you asking me out?”

"Oh," Bruce says. Then he says it again, his mouth parted with shock. "I didn’t think — We could have dinner again when you move in, maybe see a film if you want?"

Smiling, Dick reaches out to brush his fingertips over the back of Bruce’s hand where that massive paw curves around the stick shift of his ridiculous car. On a whim, he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Bruce’s mouth the way he’s probably wanted to since Raya shoved him into that office.

Pulling back, Dick’s smile widens at the gobsmacked expression on Bruce’s face.

"I do want that," Dick says, his own voice hoarse. "I want it very much."


End file.
